Demons And The Dead
by Amberssister
Summary: Daryl is trying hard to outrun his demons, but he doesn't see the point when his future looks just as bleak. Glenn is just trying to survive in this brave new world. Perhaps one will give purpose to the other. Rated T for violence, swearing, and slash.
1. Sometimes Words Have Two Meanings

_**A/N: My first**__** Walking Dead**__** fic. Please review to let me know if I should continue. **_

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the ****Walking Dead****. I make no money,, and do this for fun.**

Daryl was running. Even now, sitting still in front of the low burning fire, he was running as fast as he could. He never slept well, because every time he closed his eyes he could see, hell almost feel, the blood on his hands. He didn't really mind the killing, if killing was the right word for it. Given a choice between himself or some all ready dead bastard, it wasn't even a question. Yet, for some reason he couldn't quite understand, sometimes after a slaughter, he'd find himself a place to be alone, and he'd weep.

He supposed there was some deep-seated psychological reason for that, but he didn't really go in for that psycho-babble bullshit. Really, if he was being honest with himself, it was Merle that didn't go in for that stuff. Daryl had always found it kind of interesting, but his opinion didn't much count.

He'd learned at an early age to agree with whatever Merle said out of self-defense. If Merle said that the moon landing was fake, or that the South had really won the Civil War, then Daryl took it as Gospel. If he didn't, Merle would pound it into him. Daryl had always known that Merle wasn't that bright, and he knew that, for that reason, it was best to pretend to be stupider than he was. Now, though, it was hard to tell if he was faking it, or if he was really just as dumb as his brother. Daryl thought he was maybe too old to start forming his own opinions, but he was trying.

He'd started calling Glenn by his name instead of 'Chinaman', and he'd started listening to T-Dog when he talked. The man had decent ideas, and it would be a fool's game to ignore him just 'cause he wasn't the right color.

Be all that as it may, however, it didn't help the fact that Daryl knew he was fixin' to break down again, and he still didn't know why. It wasn't like he knew any of the walkers he mowed down, and it wasn't like they'd been alive when he'd shot them. There had just been so many of them. Hundreds, it had seemed like, a terrifying number, and they'd almost gotten Glenn.

Daryl's heart had stopped for a beat when he'd seen Glenn get grabbed; he'd almost panicked. For a split second he'd forgotten his crossbow and had started to charge ahead bare-handed, something that would have gotten them both killed. He'd remembered himself in time, hell muscle memory had taken over immediately, but that half a heartbeat had scared him.

If it had been Grimes, or Shane, that had been grabbed it wouldn't have happened, and Daryl knew what that was about. Glenn was small, and he wasn't a fighter. He was learning, but he wasn't there yet. And Daryl liked him. He liked him in a way Merle would beat his face bloody if he found out about. That was one of the things he'd been running from his whole life.

Since Daryl was sixteen he'd known that he wasn't like other folks. Girls were nice, and he could have a good time with them, sex was sex after all, but there was something about a gorgeous man that made his heart beat faster. Especially an intelligent man. It had never bothered him. The only person he'd ever been in love with had been a man. It was his natural inclination, after all. But Merle...

Merle hated everyone, but he hated fags most of all. Fags and people who could use words like 'inclination' in a sentence. Plus, there was the fact that Glenn wasn't white. Merle would have hated that most of all. Not that it mattered much anyway. Glenn didn't seem to swing that way, and he hated Daryl, for good reason.

Daryl knew he was acerbic (another word Merle would hit him for using), and he knew he was stupid. Smarter than Merle, maybe, but certainly not a MENSA member.

So, Daryl was running. From himself, from his demons, from all the death, and from Merle's ghost. He finished his meager meal of squirrel and canned beans, and then excused himself from the fire. He could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes and he knew the tide was breaking.

He grabbed his bow and headed into Dale's RV, the one place in camp that he knew would be vacant. The second the door was shut he burst into tears. Those things, those people, they'd had family once. Moms and Dads, sisters, brothers, lovers...

And there it was. Everett, the only man Daryl had ever loved. They'd been broken up for a year before the virus hit, not because they didn't love each other (Daryl had loved that boy like wild-fire), but because it was easier. Neither of their families knew that they were together, that they were... gay, which was a word Daryl still had trouble with. They'd meet up whenever they could, and those days were always the best of Daryl's life. But, it was hard to be with each other, and it was hard to be apart. Good days aside, Daryl and Everett both had been living in constant fear. In the end they'd decided to be apart. It had hurt like a motherfucker, but it had been easier that way. Pain and fear were familiar to Daryl; they were where lived. At least they didn't have to fear getting caught out; at least rock bottom had been hit, and it couldn't possibly get worse from there.

Of course Daryl had been wrong. The virus had hit Georgia suddenly and hard. Daryl had been at work when the news came, and his first thought had been for Everett. Much like Glenn, the man hadn't been much of a fighter; he hadn't even owned a gun.

For the first time in this mess, Daryl had panicked. He'd left his truck at the construction site, and he'd run. He'd run faster than he'd ever thought possible, but it hadn't been fast enough. His truck keys in his pocket, he'd run, and that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

By the time he'd reached Ev's apartment, the man had been missing a giant chunk from his arm, and he'd all ready started running a fever. He'd begged Daryl to help him, but Daryl had heard enough from the radios to know what had to be done.

"I love you," he'd said, kissed Ev's forehead, and put a bullet to him from the pistol he kept at all times. He'd stared at Ev's limp body for a moment, and then he'd grown hard. He'd never been an emotional man, and he'd never had the best temper, but looking at the body of the one person he loved more than anything, that he'd personally blown away, put him over the edge.

Since that day he'd been running on nothing but anger, but at least he'd had Merle. Then, Merle had abandoned him. More than that, Daryl was pretty sure it had been his older brother that caused the walker attack back at their old camp.

It was just too coincidental. First, their van had been stolen, then walker's appeared out of nowhere. Daryl hadn't told the others because he wanted to live through the night, but it felt like Merle might have led those dead fuckers right to them. Felt? No, Daryl believed it like absolute knowledge. Which meant that Merle hadn't just abandoned him, he'd tried to get him killed.

The more he thought about it, the harder he wept. It was ironic, really, that Daryl Dixon, the most feared man in camp, spent a good portion of his night crying like a child.

"Daryl?" a voice said quietly, and Daryl jumped and grabbed his bow.

Glenn put his hands up, but continued to move into the RV.

"I just wanted to thank you," Glenn said, sitting beside him. "You saved my life."

"Anyone would have done," Daryl said, wiping his eyes.

"But you did. Thank you. I can't count the times you've saved my ass. So, thanks."

Daryl nodded noncommittally, and started to stand, but Glenn grabbed his wrist.

"I'm glad I met you," Glenn continued, and then he did something Daryl wouldn't have expected in a hundred years. He put his arm around Daryl's shoulders and kissed his temple.

Daryl almost pulled back, and then he sank into the embrace. Tears still spilling down his cheeks, he wondered if Glenn knew about him. He wondered if any of them would care. He thought maybe they were past that shit now.

He was about to ask, he'd just screwed his courage to the sticking point, when the screaming and gunfire started.


	2. About Violence

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and PM'd me (Talon81, a special shout-out to you. I promise many yummy things are coming). This story is for you. Updates will come regularly now. Love you all. **

_**I own nothing. All rights belong to Kirkman, Darabont, AMC, et al. I make no profit.**_

_**WARNING: RATED M FOR LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE, AND TALK OF SLIGHT S&M.**_

_**Please R&. Reviews kept this alive, and I am indebted to all of them:-) **_

**WDxxWD**

_**Eight months before the end of the whole world, and four since the end of Daryl's...**_

The alarm went off at half past three, the time Daryl usually awoke on hunting days, but he wasn't in bed to hear it. Nobody was, which was rare these days.

Sitting at his kitchen table he could faintly hear the insistent _beep, beep, beep , _as the clock rang out to his empty bedroom, but he couldn't be bothered to get up to turn it off. Every part of his body felt like it was on fire.

That happened a lot these days, the nagging, burning pain hitting him fast and hard, keeping him awake at night. It happened a lot, but it _was _getting better. Broken bones heal, Daryl knew that, just as he knew that his arm, ribs, and jaw weren't the only things that had been shattered last winter, and those other aches would never go away. It was Merle's fault, all of it, but Daryl didn't have it in him to hate his brother. He didn't have it in him to _like _Merle, either. He felt a begrudging love for him, born of respect, loyalty, and maybe a little fear. Sometimes, he felt like loving Merle was a duty owed.

When Daryl had been a kid, nothin' but a scrawny little thing in hand-me down clothes that were always too big, Merle had taken care of him. He'd kept the other kids from picking on the poor white trailer park trash that Daryl had known he was. That didn't mean Merle and their old man hadn't beat Daryl's ass at every chance, but that was different; that was family. It never occurred to him that it was family he needed protection from.

By the time Daryl was 15 there was nary a son-of-a-bitch in town that he couldn't whip with one arm behind his back. Except for Merle, of course. Trying to fight Merle when he was sober was like fighting a bull. Daryl hadn't been able to lick him then, and he sure as shit couldn't do it now. He had the aches and scars to prove it.

Daryl sighed and took a long pull from the bottle of SoCo he'd been drinking all night. At first he told himself he was just having a little to dull the pain, but even in his current state, he knew better. He'd wanted to get drunk and morose, and throw himself a little pity-party. He fucking deserved one, that was certain. Now that he had it, he didn't want it, of course. That was always the way when it came to Daryl and booze. He never liked the way it made him feel, but he always wanted that burning sensation in his throat. He wasn't sure if that made him a masochist, or an alcoholic. Probably both. The old man had been a drunk (no $5 words like 'alcoholic' for him, Daryl wouldn't grant him anything that sounded so much like an excuse), and Merle was a walking testament to the kind of abuse a Dixon man could level at himself. And others, come to that, and at least Daryl would never be _that_ bad.

The alarms beeping was getting louder, gradually building up from annoying to unbearable, the way Everette liked it. Daryl opened his mouth to holler at the man (_his _man) to turn the goddamned thing off, and then grimaced at his own stupidity. Ev wasn't here, hadn't been in nigh on for months, and Daryl hadn't had the balls to tell him why he'd been suddenly ousted from what had been becoming their home. It was little bit embarrassment, but mostly it was guilt. Every time Daryl looked in the mirror and saw the fading bruises and the very likely broken bones, he felt a shame so deep it was almost tangible.

Everette hadn't come in to Daryl's life gently, and they had never been gentle with each other. They were rough men, both of them, and the first time they'd been together had been about violence. Sex and blood had become synonymous to Daryl, and he'd grown to hate himself for it. Not the sex part, but the rough, almost _angry_ way they went about it. Daryl hated himself because he loved Everett, but he enjoyed hurting him in spite of that. Hell, _because _of it. Daryl had always sworn he would never be like his Pa, but he'd started seeing that bastard in his own eyes, and that had scared him.

" I can't do this anymore," Daryl had said one night, after a particularly long, and rough session. Everette had been curled up beside him, smoking a cigarette, and Daryl had felt Ev's body grow stiff and still. He could feel the fear radiating from his lover, and he'd felt bile raise in his throat. He hadn't wanted to hurt him like that, not the kind of pain that played for keeps, but he hadn't seen another way. Daryl knew he was a sick, fucked up man, and Everette deserved so much more.

"It hurts too much," he'd continued, and Ev had actually laughed.

"Never thought you'd complain about a few bruises," he'd said, and Daryl hadn't missed how the smile on his face was absent from his voice.

"It ain't that," Daryl had said sharply, sitting up and pulling away. "It's what I do to you."

"I love you," Ev had replied, as if that were the only thing that counted. "I love you, and I love us. You never hurt me, baby, not really. It's a game; it's fun."

"That's the point. I ain't good for you. This shit shouldn't be fun. It's sick. We're sick."

Everett had grown quiet, and then he'd said, damningly soft, "I never realized you were such fucking coward. You want to be tender, fine, I can do that. You wanna make love sweet, all you gotta do is ask. As long as I'm with you. But, this ain't about that. You aren't sick, Daryl, you're yellow. This is about Merle, and all those good ol' boys you hang with. This is about what they'd think if they knew you were a fag. You can't do this anymore. Fine, just throw me out with the waste, because you're too much of a pussy to face this."

He'd never raised his voice, he'd barely even moved, and sitting inside of that stillness had almost broken Daryl's heart. "I love you," Ev had repeated, and Daryl had known then that he was lost.

Looking his lover in the eye, Daryl had realized that he could never tell Everett the truth. He could never tell him that he wasn't afraid of being found out, but he was terrified of how much he equated pain with love. Ev had told him numerous times that he loved him, but it had never felt real until the words bled. Daryl had never said it back, and he didn't think he ever would, but he'd kissed him then, tenderly and sweet, and that had been the end of it.

Then, last winter, Merle had gotten high on meth, and he'd shown up at Daryl's itchin' for a fight. The only thing he'd said was "You may talk big when you out with your friends, but I know where you really live, little brother. You ain't no man." Then he'd beaten Daryl within an inch of his life.

When the beating was over, with Daryl lying bloody and bruised, half afraid he would die, and absolutely terrified that he wouldn't, Merle had leaned over him, gently grasped his face, and said "That queer boy you been fucking around with don't love you, gay-boy. Ain't nobody could ever love you, 'cept for your kin. Don't you know that? Well, now, every time you look in the mirror, you'll remember. 'cause what you got now that your pretty face is gone? Me, that's all you got."

Daryl had seen Everett that day; it had been a good day, and it had been the last. Daryl had rejected every phone call since, because Merle had been right. Every time he looked in the mirror from that day forward, he remembered, all right. Not that Ev didn't love him, but that Merle did. He'd shown it that night, the only way he knew how, from the tips of his steel-toed boots.

Daryl remembered that, but the shame came from something else he'd learned that night: he would never be like his father, because he was too much like Merle. Sex and blood, pain and love, with Everett playing the part of the victim and time martyr to Daryl's twisted heart.

Daryl had known then that he didn't deserve love; not Everett's, not his dead-beat Mama's, not even Merle's. Ev had been right after all; Daryl was too much of coward to face what he was, and so Daryl had shut him out.

Those memories flashed through Daryl's mind in an eternity of second, brought on by the liquor and the wounds that still throbbed in his body and his heart, and he started to weep for the first time since he'd been a child. He wasn't weeping for himself, but for the fact that, as much pain as he was in, it wasn't nearly equal to the pain he'd caused, and because he knew this wouldn't kill him. No one has ever actually died of a broken heart, and wasn't that a bitch of thing?

Wiping his eyes, Daryl poured the rest of his bottle down the sink, and headed off to bed. He reached for the alarm to shut it off, and then yanked it forcefully from the table and smashed it against the wall. It had been Everett's, the first thing he'd ever moved in to Daryl's house, and he'd loved that thing. The sight of it lying in pieces sent a wave of nausea through his stomach, and a trill of pleasure up his spine. That was because that act hadn't been about love, Daryl reckoned. Like all things in his life, it had been about violence.

**A/N part 2: A little strange, I know, but Daryl's pre-zombie life interests me a lot. I hope you all feel the same. Glenn will appear in the next chapter, I swear.**

**This is not beta'd. If you're interested in the job, send me PM. I'd really appreciate it.**


	3. Knowing When You're Beat

_**A/N: Many thanks to everyone who likes this story. I'm in your debt.**_

_**Please R&R. I subsist on reviews. **_

_**I own nothing. This is done for fun, not at all profit.**_

WD xx WD

_He was about to ask, he'd just screwed his courage to the sticking point, when the screaming and gunfire started_._.._

Daryl was on his feet before the first report had echoed away, trying to load a bolt into his weapon, but that proved impossible since Glenn's fingers were digging into his arm, tight enough to hurt. Daryl shook him off, not violently, but with no trace of the vulnerability he'd briefly let Glenn see.

"You just stay put, " he growled, finally getting the bow-string to slide home, "and don't go makin' no noise."

"You can't leave me here," Glenn said, almost pleading. "I don't even have a gun. What if you can't handle them? Take me with you; I can help."

"No, you can't. Just stay the out of the way. I can't promise to save your ass every time a walker gets up on you." It came out quite a bit gruffer than he'd intended, but that morning's memories fresh. And, that hollering had sounded like Lori.

If something had happened to Rick, then it was up to Daryl and Shane to hold the geeks off, as horrifying as that idea was. Daryl knew he wasn't good for much, and Shane... there weren't nothin' that man wouldn't do to protect the cops wife, which was fine for her, but what did that make the rest of them? Cannon fodder. Glenn would probably be okay for a while, T-dog and Dale too, but Daryl could see Andrea and Carol out on their asses before Rick was cold. Then he, Daryl, would have to step in, step_ up, _and he wasn't good enough. He wasn't the man Rick was, or that Shane had been.

Daryl couldn't let it come down like that, so there was no way he could let Glenn limp out there on a twisted knee (courtesy of that mornings fucked supply run) and distract him.

"Dude-" Glenn started, but he was cut off with a wave.

_Whatever you have to say is less important than shit, _that wave seemed to say. Daryl had it down to a science. Though it had only been thirty seconds, max, since the first shot had been fired, his blood was singing; a sickening, thrilling refrain of _kill, kill, kill. _This was a conversation he wasn't having.

"Just stay fuckin' put. You deaf, Chinaman, or just ignorant?"

Glenn just looked at him, not a glare, nothing vitriolic, just a weary resignation that no matter how nice he was to Daryl, no matter how hard he tried, _this _was the best and most he could expect. That look pierced Daryl's heart in a way no sneer or snarl could have.

"Look," he said, averting his eyes, "you ain't in any shape. Take this and stay quiet. If you need help, give a holler. I'll come runnin'."

"You promise?" Glenn asked sarcastically, taking the Lady Smith Daryl was holding out to him. He'd robbed it from some grave or the other, but he couldn't remember when. Days were blending together lately, especially without Merle or Ev to stitch then together.

Glenn had asked it sarcastically, but Daryl was deadly serious when he said, "Yeah. I promise."

WD xx WD

It was a promise he didn't have to keep. There were only nine walkers that had made it to camp, and Rick had taken out five of them before Daryl emerged from the RV. The sixth had his hand wrapped in Rick's hair, and was trying his damnedest to sink his teeth into Rick's throat. Daryl saw that just as he saw he didn't have the shot. He was a damned fine marksman, even his Pa had known that, but part of being good was knowing when you were beat. Any bolt he fired had as much chance of hitting Grimes as it did the geek.

Daryl looked around, and surveyed the odds. He saw Shane, running like the demons of hell were after him, but he was facing Rick's back. He saw Dale trying to aim, but mostly he saw Lori, crying and shielding her son's eyes from seeing his daddy die. Again. At least an arrow through the brain would be quick and merciful. At least they wouldn't have to watch Rick come back. Without further hesitation, Daryl aimed and fired.

WD xx WD

"Took you long enough," Rick panted as the last walker fell. "Were you napping in there?"

"Hey, I took out three of the bastards while you were pissing around."

"Yeah, well if you'd been any slower, I'd be walker food."

Six months ago, hell even three, Daryl would have taken offense to that, but he was beginning to recognize teasing. More than that, the others were starting to joke with _him. _For a man who'd spent his life alternating between frightening other people, and _being _frightened, it was like learning to breathe underwater. He managed a half-smirk before Shane arrived, sobering the mood in an instant.

"We gotta move now," he said, his Mossberg still at the ready. "Ya'll know that, right?"

Rick nodded and sighed. "Yep," he said, "but, people aren't gonna like it much."

"World ain't about what people _like _anymore," Daryl spat, reloading his bow.

"Daryl's right," Shane added, "much as I hate to say it. We gotta keep people safe."

Daryl gave Shane a withering look, grabbed his weapon, and left them to bicker amongst themselves. Rick grabbed his shoulder as he turned, just a friendly 'thank you' pat, and Daryl instinctively shirked his touch. He wasn't really used to friendly.

He slammed open the door to the RV, and when Glenn jumped, Daryl was surprised to see him. He was even more surprised that he'd forgotten the man. No single person had occupied his thoughts so much since Everett.

"I saw what you did," Glenn said, standing up even though his knee must have been about to buckle. "For the second time today, you're a hero."

"Pack your shit, we're moving out." Daryl tried to use his best _fuck you _tone, but he couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice. Glenn stood silently, his always open face showing nothing but compassion, until Daryl broke.

"I didn't have the goddamn shot, okay? There's no way that arrow shoulda hit that walker. I was _trying_ to hit it, but I thought I was gonna end up shooting Rick. I thought if I _did _it would still be better than... I took the shot anyway."

Daryl's voice shook as he said this, but, to his credit he thought, he didn't cry.

"Either way, you did the right thing," Glenn said, and then he pulled Daryl into a hug. Daryl rested his head against the other man's shoulder, felt Glenn's lips brush against his neck, and never once thought of pulling away.


	4. The Heart

**A/N: Thank you, truly, to everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited, and read this. You guys rock!**

*****_**Standard plea for reviews goes here***_

**Still don't own it.**

**Warnings for language, slash, and violence.**

**WD xx WD**

Driving aimlessly had always been one of Daryl's favorite activities, so it didn't bother him as much as it did the others, but even he had to admit it was starting to wear on his nerves. Especially towing along two kids, and a bunch of pansy ass city folk who's idea of roughing it was a Motel 6. Sorry, folks, but the Marriott seems to have closed for the season.

They drove until dawn was just beginning to announce her presence, and Daryl paused setting up his tent to admire the view. It meant he'd lived to see another day. Sunrises had become a rare commodity, and they had taken on a special beauty, even if he was seeing this one from the wrong side.

It was all ready in the upper 70's (winter seemed to have been canceled with the rest of the world), and the group was grumbling about how they would _never _get any sleep in the Georgian heat. Daryl had slept through much worse, so he didn't much mind. What interested him was Rick and his damn radio.

Every morning, Rick pulled that thing out and narrated the previous days events to the mythical Morgan, a man Daryl would lay odds was dead. If he wasn't, he probably _wished _he was, 'cause Rick's stories were depressing as shit.

"_We lost another one today... We had to move again... The walkers have the cities, and they're taking the country... I hope you hear this, find us, that you're alive... I hope."_

_Daryl _hoped that hope was contagious, because everyone else was losing theirs. Even him. Christ, he'd never had any to begin with. When you were born into a drunk, cracked out family, so dirt poor your roof was more hole than shingle, and your bathroom was an outhouse, you knew you weren't ever getting out. Hope was a rich man's dream. Daryl had never voted, and he wasn't a hardline Republican like everyone else he knew, because it didn't matter. Economics might trickle down, but not to where he lived. The only thing that trickled that far was rain.

What he did have was a resignation so deep it masqueraded as contentment. He could roll with the punches, and he punched right the hell back, but he didn't expect things to get better. The point was, he didn't need them to.

Daryl was torn from his reverie by a grunt of pain behind him, and he turned to see Glenn struggling with his tent like it was a bear. The kid had a fucked up knee, Daryl remembered, and he also remembered the feel of Glenn's lips on his neck. The embrace had only lasted a moment, and it didn't have to mean anything, but Daryl was almost certain that it did. Enough to help the kid out when he needed it, anyway.

Approaching the tent, Daryl came to two conclusions. One, the thing was so tangled it would take all morning to sort it out, and, two, he was suddenly bone-weary, and didn't have it in him.

"Hey, kid, just drop it," he said, "you can sleep with me tonight."

Glenn reddened slightly, and Daryl knew it had meant something to him too. Hell, maybe the kid _did _swing his way, although that didn't matter. It would just be nice to hear someone else breathing next to him again.

"Okay," Glenn said with a shrug, "as long as you don't hog the covers."

"I got a cot. _You _get the ground. And, I do hog the covers, for your information."

"Is that information you think I'll need?"

Glenn was smirking (a look that somehow both suited him and seemed completely out of place), and Daryl realized he knew this dance. Somehow, they'd ended up flirting. They had _always _been flirting. Daryl had been aware of his side, he'd been pulling the guys pigtails since the start, but it had never occurred to him that Glenn was pulling back. Not even in the RV. Saving a person's life will make them do funny things. The realization hit him hard. God, sometimes he was as big an idiot as the rest of them.

"Come on," he choked out, "let's..." he couldn't finish the sentence, so he just started towards his tent, hoping Glenn would follow and praying like hell that he wouldn't.

"So, this is your place," Glenn said, following him through the flap. "It's nice. Kinda cramped, but homey."

Daryl rolled his eyes, and stripped off his shirt. He didn't require much in life, but a wipe-down before bed was absolutely necessary. As he poured a pitiful amount of water on an old rag, he reflected on how Glenn never seemed to get dirty, while _he _seemed to attract filth. Weird.

He finished, and threw on the cleanest wife-beater he had. Glenn giggled, and Daryl looked at him quizzically.

"Do you own a single shirt with sleeves?" Glenn asked.

"Yes," Daryl replied, "but, it's gonna be 100 today, at least, and who the hell gives a shit? I'm pretty sure Joan Rivers is a walker now."

"I thought she all ready was," Glenn said, and when he smiled, his face transformed from cute to beautiful.

Daryl knew _he _wasn't beautiful, wasn't even close. He wasn't smart, either, so what the hell had made him think Glenn would want him?

Then, Glenn kissed him, and Daryl's world exploded.

**WD xx WD**

_Everett was drunk when Daryl opened the door, and Daryl was shocked when he was pushed roughly against the wall and kissed like it was a new invention. Everett bit at his lips, pushed his tongue between Daryl's lips..._

... Daryl pushed back exploring Glenn's mouth, gently, not wanting to break this fragile thing. Glenn seemed less concerned, his mouth greedy and his hands everywhere. He pushed Daryl's shirt up, nails grazing skin...

_... as Everett pushed his hands into Daryl's waistband. Daryl knew it would bruise, hell it would bleed, he was going to have gouges on his hips for weeks, but it didn't matter, because it felt so fucking good, it made him feel so..._

... alive, Daryl hadn't felt this alive in months, and every time Glenn found a new patch of skin to explore, he wanted to die. This was Heaven, and Hell, and death...

_... "I love you," Daryl said, and his hands were shaking because he'd never said it, not once, but it counted now. Ev hadn't cried when Daryl had broken it off with him, but he was crying now. "Don't," Ev said, and Daryl wasn't sure if he meant the words, or if he knew what had to happen now. It didn't matter. Death hurts the ones who have to live through it. "I love you," Daryl said again, pulled his gun..._

... and he pushed Glenn away roughly. Glenn just stared at him for a moment, and then he looked away.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I thought you wanted..."

"Shut up," Daryl said breathlessly, his gorge rising. "Just... take the cot. I need air."

He made it just past the RV before he threw up. Holy Christ, how had he ever thought that would be a good idea. Fuck. _Fuck. _He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned around ready to swing. He barely stopped himself from clocking Dale, who was standing far too close and holding a tin cup of water.

"Easy, son," Dale said, extending the cup. Daryl took it gratefully, rinsed his mouth, and then drank the rest in one gulp.

"There you go," Dale said, patting his back. "You aren't getting sick are you?"

"I'm fine. The heat is all."

But, Dale must have seen the lie in his eyes, because he grabbed Daryl's arm and said "What happened to you, son?"

"Mind your business, old timer," Daryl said, wrenching his arm back. "Just mind your business, and we won't have a problem."

Dale just smiled, a look that said_ I've bested bigger pissants than you in my time, boy. _Daryl respected that look.

"Sometimes, I want to find whoever made you this way, and kick their asses," Dale said. "You don't have to be what was made of you, but if you _choose_ to be, that's a tragedy. You could be so much better."

Daryl had nothing to say to that, so he simply tossed the cup back and walked away. There were too many things clambering for attention in his mind, so he walked for nearly an hour before the heat and fatigue drove him back to his tent.

When he got there, he found it empty. He had no idea who the kid had found to bunk with, but he was perversely thrilled about the hurt the sight of his empty tent gave him. It was still pain, which was the only feeling Daryl seemed to have left, but it was _different _pain. That had to count for something.

**WD xx WD**

_"In the desert_

_I saw a creature, naked, bestial,_

_Who, squatting upon the ground,_

_Held his heart in his hands,_

_And ate of it._

_I said, "Is it good, friend?"_

_"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;_

_"But I like it_

_Because it is bitter,_

_And because it is my heart." - Stephen Crane_


	5. Tick, Tock

**Disclaimer: Many people own The Walking Dead, but I'm not one of them. I do this to feed my obsession.**

_**AN:So sorry about the long delay. I had writers block so badly, I thought I might never write again. It was a nightmare. Please forgive me and stick with me. I love you guys!**_

Daryl slept a fitful, nightmare filled three hours after returning to his tent, but he'd always been the type of man who functioned well on little sleep. Hell, he thrived on sleep deprivation; you had to, when hunting was your primary way of getting food on the table. That first night it didn't much bother him, and he shrugged it off. Just par for the course, especially in this fucked new world. After a week though, it was starting to take it's toll. He became less observant, less careful, his reflexes went to hell. Worse than that, his hunting began to suffer, as did his aim. He had a lot of mouths to feed, and a lot of people to protect, but his hands were starting to tremble. As both hunter and prey, Daryl was falling behind.

It wasn't just the fatigue, either. It was the fact that when he _did _sleep, he was plagued by the worst nightmares imaginable. In some of them, he was lost in the woods, and it was beautiful, and peaceful. He wished he could stay there, but he was also terrified that he would have to. He knew that if he stayed long enough in that forest, he'd eventually find Merle, waiting to take him home, and that idea scared the shit out of him. He didn't know what that said about himself, but he knew he hated himself for it. These weren't the worst dreams, though, not by a long shot.

The worst ones came on the hard days, the ones when he'd had to kill more than his share of walkers, and they always woke him up nearly screaming. In these, he was sitting on the top of the RV, watching as the group got torn to pieces by a herd of the damned things. Watching, but not helping. Not helping, and enjoying the show. Daryl always woke up choking on either sobs or laughter, he could never tell which, and he knew he was going insane.

He would lay there for a time, and think about a cigarette, a drink, some of Merle's Valium, any damn thing that would take the sharp edges off of his nerves, and keep him from cutting himself. He would lay there, and wonder how much longer he could go on like this. In those dark, lonely hours, it seemed like he could actually hear his own death clock, ticking away his life, ebbing away his sanity. He would lay there, listening. Then, the sun would come up, and Daryl would put on his game face.

The days went by in a blur; he listened when Rick talked, and did what Rick said, because it was easier than thinking, it was easier than _fighting_, and it was much easier than trying to figure out what had happened between him and the kid. Glenn was mostly M.I.A after the incident in Daryl's tent, and for that, Daryl was grateful. He had enough to worry about just surviving, without having to explain his past to some dumbass college kid, who couldn't have the vaguest conception of what his life had been like.

Daryl felt stupid for even considering the idea. He'd been acting the fool, throwing in with these people, _trusting _these people, wasting his time worrying, and caring, growing attached to people who stank of death, and ticked so loudly, he could hardly think. In the week after the incident, Daryl began to see clearly that life had been easier when he'd had nothing to lose. It had been quieter, at least.

Still, he was in it now. Logically, it was safer to be in a well-armed group than to go it alone. He told himself that, logically, it made sense to protect these people, so that they, in turn, would protect him. But, he didn't have to like it, and he didn't have to like _them._ A little distance would go a long way, he reckoned, to bringing him back to himself.

Daryl started pulling away, literally and metaphorically, and his mind started to ease. In the daylight at least. At night, he still heard the ticking, and he still dreamed.

_tick, tick, tick_

**WDWD**

Two weeks after the incident, averaging little more than two hours of jagged, painful sleep a night, Daryl began preparing to give in. He'd watched his Mama go crazy, and he knew there was little use in fighting it. It would just eat, and eat at you, until you were nothing but a raving, useless shell. Daryl had been forged from steel though, pounded and moulded by his family into one of the toughest sons-of-bitches this side of the Mason-Dixon, and he would be God-Damned if he was gonna go that way. He would fight until the time came to lay down arms, until he was too tired to go on, and then he would go gracefully, of his own accord. Merle wouldn't have understood the logic, but Merle rarely understood anything about Daryl.

Of course, he'd always thought that he had; Merle had assumed from the day Daryl was born that he was soft and simple and damn near useless without someone to dictate his every move. Daryl knew that, because Merle had made him believe it, too. For well over three decades, Daryl had lived not _in _Merle's shadow, but _as _his shadow. He'd lived his life as nothing more than an extension of his brother, and the sickest part was that it had been better that way. When you have no choices to make, you have none to regret. Still, on the darkest nights, Daryl found himself feeling almost grateful Merle was gone, and those were the nights he thought of killing himself.

He was going to die anyway, and his mind was all ready half-way to hell. All his soul had to do was catch up. It would be quick and clean, and of his own accord. Not yet, though. Every night, he planned on making it one more day. Just knowing he had the option was enough. He would go to sleep with that idea in his head, and dream the dreams of the damned.

_tick, tick, tick_

**WDWD**

It was another week before someone approached him about it, and he was surprised that it wasn't Rick, or Dale, or even Glenn. He'd been fletching bolts beside his tent, concentrating on getting the feathers straight, and when Andrea sat down beside him, he'd almost brained her.

"What the hell, you numb bitch?", he'd nearly shouted, more pissed at himself than anything else. "You're damn lucky I didn't crack your skull open. Fuck you want?"

Andrea had simply crossed her arms and given him that cool, courtroom glare that he'd grown used to seeing whenever the uppity bitch got a bug up her ass.

"You got somethin' to say, spit it out." Daryl had said, to fill the silence. "I ain't got time for a staring contest."

"You look like shit," Andrea had replied, coolly.

"Go stare at Shane, then, you want something to turn you on. I'm busy."

"Doing what, coming up with ways to be even more of an asshole? Look, I'm not here because I want to be. I'm here because you haven't been yourself lately, and before you tell me to go fuck myself, you should know I don't care why. The last few weeks, you're gotten slow, and you've gotten careless. We need you, Daryl, to protect the group. So, get your shit together. Live or die, that's your choice, but make up your mind."

With that, she'd stood and started to walk back towards the main camp. Daryl had grabbed her arm and pulled her back, spinning her until their faces had almost been touching.

"Don't you dare get in my face, little girl", he'd growled. "Don't you fucking_ dare_ walk up here and act like you know me. You don't know shit about what I been through -"

"I lost my baby sister, and then I _shot _her walking corpse before she could eat me. Believe me, I know. There isn't a single person here who doesn't..."

She'd gone on some after that, but the noise in Daryl's head had gotten so loud, she might as well have been hollering at him from Jacksonville. Sure, she'd shot Amy, just as he'd shot Everett, and she'd wanted to go out on her own terms, just as he'd been planning, but Andrea still couldn't possibly understand. She couldn't understand that instead of hearing what she was saying to him, Daryl could only hear that constant _ticking, _that seemed to follow the rhythm of his heart.

He had no idea how long they'd stood there, Andrea harping, while he tried to drown out the beat inside his head, until she'd said the one and only phrase that could have brought him back.

"We depend on you, Daryl, and I know you don't give a damn about the rest of us, but I've seen the way you look at Glenn. Your recklessness could get him killed. I would never tell you not to opt out, but don't take the rest of us with you."

When she'd walked away that time, he'd let her. His mind had been spinning, reeling, and he'd felt sick. That night was one of the loudest and darkest.

_tick, tick, tick_

**WDWD**

That had been a little over a week ago, and Daryl had spent that time alternating between being pissed as hell at Andrea (mostly for being able to see through him, into what he truly was), and thinking about what she'd said. He was becoming a liability, he knew that, but he'd also realized something else. Kissing Glenn had made him feel alive, and Daryl couldn't have that. The memory of Everett was fading all too quickly, as painful things are wont to do when they hurt enough to kill, and Glenn was moving into Daryl's heart.

Everyone Daryl had ever loved was dead and gone, and he couldn't, _wouldn't, _risk going through it again. Much like Ev, Glenn wasn't a fighter, and it wasn't Daryl's own death clock he heard now; it never had been. It was Glenn's. Daryl didn't want to die, not really, he wanted one more day, one more sunrise, but he knew Glenn dying would kill him faster than everything he'd ever been addicted to, and as he lie restless on his cot, he couldn't sleep again.

It was then that he decided to leave. It would be best for everyone. And, truth be told, he was much better off on his own. Daryl pulled himself off of the cot, and quietly packed his meager belongings into his saddlebag. He dismantled the tent and cot, and stuffed them into hiking backpack. Ten minutes from now, he'd be miles from this camp and these people, and he fully intended to leave his broken heart behind. Daryl had no idea where he was going, but he knew he wouldn't need it there. It had fucked him enough for one lifetime.

He finished packing, slung his crossbow over his shoulder, and started pushing his bike towards the road. He didn't want to wake the others; he'd never been good at goodbyes.

He was almost at the road, almost free, when a figure slumped against a tree caught his attention. Even in the dark, he recognized it as Glenn. Daryl stopped short, his heart in his throat, wanting to turn back, but knowing it was too late.

"I've been wondering when you were gonna sky," Glenn said, without looking away from the road. "You almost made it. Just forgot someone would be on lookout."

"I ain't..." Daryl started, but he had no idea how to finish. This was the first time they'd seen each other since the incident, and Daryl's skin was starting to tingle from the memory of Glenn's touch.

"I expected it sooner," Glenn said, in the silence. "You haven't been the same since... I wanted to talk to you, but you didn't want me."

"I wanted you," Daryl said, without thinking. "I killed the last man I was with. He got bit, and I put him down. I loved him, and I killed him." He had no idea why he'd said that, except that he'd always been a man who couldn't cross a bridge without burning it behind him.

He expected Glenn to recoil at that, perhaps step aside and let him free. Instead, Glenn faced him for the first time since Daryl's arrival, and nodded.

"I hear you screaming at night, sometimes," he said. "Now I know why. I'm going to die, Daryl. Maybe in two minutes, maybe in two years, but it doesn't matter. Because, so are you. We can't guarantee a future, and the past is just a legend now. All we have is this moment. And, if this moment is all we have, then I want it to be a good one. I want to do what I want. And, right now, all I want is to walk you back to your tent, climb inside, and hold you if you wake up screaming."

"I can't do this-" Daryl started, but Glenn cut him off with a sneer.

"I never knew you were such a coward," Glenn said, and the words hit Daryl like gut punch. Glenn, echoing the words of Ev...

"Give me one night," Glenn continued. "Give me one night, just to lay beside you. One night, and then you can leave. But, I can't remember what it feels like not to be scared, anymore, unless I'm with you. One night, Daryl. I know you want it too."

"One night," Daryl repeated, and then nodded, slightly, and turned back without a word. He headed back to his recently vacated, segregated campsite, re-pitched his tent. He was vague on the details of why he'd agreed to this, but there was something about Glenn that Daryl would follow into Hell. Or, since this was Hell, there was some inexplicable thing that made Daryl stay there. So, he stripped down, took what his old man referred to as a whore bath, and waited for Glenn to be relived of his post.

Half an hour later, Glenn slipped into the rent, removed his clothes without ceremony, and slipped into the cot next to him. It was a tight fit, and they had to entangle their limbs to fit.

They didn't make love that night, not in a physical sense, but Daryl kissed Glenn's mouth and neck and face until Glenn fell asleep. Lying there, wrapped together so tightly Daryl could feel Glenn's heartbeat, Daryl felt the first distant vibrations of peace. He drifted off and dreamt of nothing.

_silence_

**WDWD**

_**Please review. Feedback is the fanfiction writers only currency. Also, they always make my day. Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.**_


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